


Lady of the Bedchamber

by pear_tree



Category: The Favourite (2018)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21610807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pear_tree/pseuds/pear_tree
Summary: “I thought I’d find you here,” Sarah says as she enters Anne’s bedroom, enjoying the way Abigail, sprawled on the chaise, startles and nearly drops her teacup. “You’ve been elevated for a single day, and already you’re treating yourself to the royal bedchamber as though you owned it.”
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Lady of the Bedchamber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoldgods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/gifts).

> Happy Yuletide! Sarah's my favorite character too, and it was fun to get to write about her.
> 
> Detailed content notes are at the end (but everything is basically canon-level).

“I thought I’d find you here,” Sarah says as she enters Anne’s bedroom, enjoying the way Abigail, sprawled on the chaise, startles and nearly drops her teacup. “You’ve been elevated for a single day, and already you’re treating yourself to the royal bedchamber as though you owned it.” 

“Lady Marlborough.” Abigail has recovered and sat up, and now she takes her time in closing her novel and setting the teacup on its saucer before standing. “How nice to see you. You weren’t looking for Her Majesty, were you? She’s with the physician, but of course her schedule isn’t privy to—” 

“Spare me,” Sarah says, striding toward Abigail. She’d been riding hard all morning, trying to hone herself and clear her mind, and she’s in no mood for slow, interminable court games. She stops just a foot short of Abigail, who stiffens and meets her gaze. Up close, it’s clear that Abigail’s wearing someone’s hand-me-down dress that’s cut slightly too large for her. Corners must be cut when one has jumped up too quickly. “I know you’re getting ideas because you’ve managed to hang on a bit longer,” Sarah continues. “It seems as though you’ve forgotten how far someone like you can fall. Allow me to do the courtesy of reminding you that there are places you can go that’ll make getting fucked by your German in exchange for room and board seem like paradise.” 

“How very gracious of you,” Abigail says. She smiles tartly, but Sarah knows she’s thrown Abigail off-balance. 

“Tell me, Abigail,” Sarah continues. “Do you really think you’re the first pretty little confection with a penchant for amateurish scheming to cross the Queen’s path?” Abigail tilts her head, and her eyes widen in a mockery of naiveté. If Sarah had her way, she’d gouge those eyes out. “There was a girl several years ago who did quite a lot of giggling and simpering and bending over. Come to think of it, your tricks have nearly exceeded hers in subtlety. It turned out she was keeping her options open and fucking an unmarried earl with a rather astonishing amount of gambling debt, and soon this became apparent to the entire court at around the same time as when the debtors came calling. Ultimately they had to marry and return to his father’s decrepit castle. Quite the rose plucked in her prime.” 

Abigail snorts. “How tragic. I’m sure you had nothing to do with the outcome.” 

“Anne forgot her name within a week.” 

“And yet she’s still fresh in your mind.” Abigail steps slightly closer. Cheap perfume, chintzy earrings. Sarah doesn’t flinch. 

Not for the first time, Sarah thinks of what Abigail might have become with a gentler upbringing, one that hadn’t worn her down to something feral and hungry. They might have had a more congenial relationship, with Abigail in a more suitable position in Anne’s household and grateful for it, innocent of knowing what it was truly like to be in the mud. But there was no undoing what had been done to her. Abigail continues, “But I don’t think you know what my tricks are. Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

She smirks, and Sarah sees the smirk for an instant before she slaps Abigail across the face. It’s a clean, satisfying hit, and it makes Abigail stagger. She clearly hadn’t been expecting it, but she should have. 

“You can’t do that anymore,” Abigail says, standing straight again. “I’m Anne’s, now. Don’t you remember?” 

Sarah goes in for another slap. No reason to not give Abigail what she’s asking for. But anger makes her own movements obvious, and Abigail is prepared this time. She ducks and tackles Sarah’s midsection, and in an instant they’re on the chaise, Abigail on top. Sarah is, humiliatingly, not quite fast enough. “Let me go, you disgusting little trollop,” she says, wincing as Abigail scrambles to pin her down by the wrists. Sarah feels her wrist bones shift painfully under the weight. She could kill Abigail easily in a fair duel, by sword or by pistol, but Abigail scraps like a gutter cat. “We’re in Her Majesty’s bedchamber. Please at least try to control yourself.” 

“Didn’t you know? I actually learned everything I needed from you, Lady Marlborough,” Abigail says, in her temporary triumph. “Don’t you remember the dancing at the party? When she’d gotten cross with you and you’d had to get back in her good graces? I saw you from the library, so I believe I should thank _you_.” 

Sarah spits in her face. All’s fair. To her credit, Abigail doesn’t let go, but she does waver enough for Sarah to push with her legs against the back of the chaise and roll them both onto the floor. She has a small advantage, being still in her riding clothes, and she’ll use it. Porcelain shatters on the floor; one of them has knocked the teacup off the table. Abigail hisses in pain at the hard landing, and Sarah manages to swing a leg over so that she’s straddling Abigail’s hips. In another instant, she grabs Abigail’s wrists and holds them down on either side of Abigail’s head. 

On the night of the party, Sarah had eventually allowed Anne to undress and touch her. She doesn't allow it frequently, but the Queen likes to feel generous and capable, in bed as elsewhere, and her anxieties had required soothing by direct means. The natural assumption had been that Abigail had heard a servants’ rumor or seen Sarah in an unexpected hallway and made a risky, lucky guess, but what Sarah had not considered was the possibility of Abigail seeing them together with her own eyes, least of all on that night. Failing to consider that idea had been a mistake, one that now leaves her blindsided by fury. 

She must control her anger. Abigail is asking for her own destruction, and Sarah will serve it to her gladly, but unharnessed anger will do no good in the meantime. 

Abigail stops struggling and gives a small nod, and Sarah releases her grip. It might be another trick, but in that case she’ll allow Abigail to squander what’s left of her dignity if she chooses. Abigail takes the opportunity to wipe the spittle off her face. “You can’t kill me in here,” she says. She’s breathing hard, and a flush has risen on her pale cheeks. “Have a little shooting accident tomorrow if you’d like, but not here.” She makes a face of mock concern, and continues lightly, “Don’t you think Anne has seen enough death in this room?” 

Sarah does think, for a second, of wrapping her hands around Abigail’s delicate neck. Perhaps she could snap it in half. “Or maybe I misjudged your intentions,” Abigail continues. “If you can’t have Anne, you’ll have me instead. Is that right? I’ve never been ravished by a member of the fairer sex before, but let’s see if it’s any improvement on the usual.” 

“As tempting as it may be to wipe the smirk off your face by any means possible, I think you flatter yourself, you little whore,” Sarah says. Abigail begins to laugh. “I only came here—” 

“You’re calling me a whore? Dear cousin, I haven’t done anything you haven’t done. That’s exactly why this is so upsetting to you, isn’t it?” 

“That’s nonsense,” Sarah says, momentarily disarmed by Abigail’s audacity. The girl is simply unable to understand that there are people unlike herself. Harley, Bolingbroke, and their ilk have at least some vestiges of what one could describe as principles, but to be a creature with none at all is utterly beneath contempt. “I know this is difficult for you to conceive of, but some of us are actually loyal to the Queen,” she says. “Favor is one thing that you’re well-acquainted with, but loyalty is something else entirely, and it’s apparently alien to you. I serve my Queen and my country, and you are a climber who spreads her legs for the highest bidder. I suppose it must be reassuring to believe that everyone is as craven as you are, but you’re mistaken.” 

Abigail starts laughing again, and it’s a false, nasty laugh. “You actually believe it,” she says. “You actually _believe_ it. You actually believe you’re only doing what’s best for her. When you tell Her Majesty that you love her while she’s fucking you, do you mean that as well?” 

For a moment, Sarah falters, and Abigail takes the opportunity to try to twist the knife. “Lady Marlborough, I had underestimated you. You actually believe that you love the Queen! I’d always wondered how you played the game so well, but I suppose the secret was obvious all along.” 

Abigail does not have the upper hand, but it would be reckless to allow her to believe so. Sarah recomposes herself. “Abigail, I believe I do know what your tricks are,” she says. “You believe that you’ll be able to maintain your position as long as you continue to indulge the whims of the Queen of Great Britain as though she were a greedy, sticky child. You may think you know what her appetites are, but Anne is not your dead German or a Tory court fop, and she won’t be managed that way. Do you really think your jealousy and your striving and your flattery aren’t transparent to her?” 

“_You’re_ accusing me of excessive jealousy?” Abigail says. “Pray get to the point, before you permanently wrinkle my dress.” 

Sarah ignores her. “The Queen likes a little flattery as we all do, but don’t think for a second that you’ve got her on a leash because of it. You are playing a dangerous game that you do not know how to play and that your limited provincial successes have not prepared you for, and I will not allow you to disturb Anne’s health and stability or that of the country while you attempt to let her use you for as long as you can.” 

Abigail’s lips curl into a smile. “So you think you’re protecting her from me,” she says. “A selfless knight defending her queen, motivated by nothing but the purest affection. How sweet. But I believe you’re the one who flatters me—I hadn’t known I was such a threat.” 

Sarah shifts her weight and stands. She looks at Abigail, disheveled, between her feet, then at the shards of the teacup on the floor. “I think I’ve made myself clear, dear cousin,” she says. “I am loyal to the Queen, which entails both protecting her from her own whims and from those who would attempt to harm her. It’s not too late for you to run. If you continue to stand in the way, I will ruin you without a moment’s hesitation.” 

She steps over Abigail and walks to the door. Behind her, she hears Abigail standing up and brushing her skirts. 

“I shall look forward to seeing you try, Lady Marlborough,” she calls. 

Sarah does not turn. “Do clean up that teacup,” she says, and leaves. 

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: They slap each other around and fantasize about murder, and there are brief references to past sexual assault and to Anne’s dead children, all at a canon-typical level.


End file.
